


Trust

by johnlockaf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockaf/pseuds/johnlockaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had waited days on end for a message or note pertaining to the status or return of his companion. Upon receiving what he had longed for, he fell into a state of bliss. But, in light of the new information given, John felt disoriented. He had only just gotten his best friend back, and it seems that someone is already after him. What was he doing during those months of travel overseas? Is there something he was hiding?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, the last time I touched this was January 9th, 2016. The title may change when I get around to working on this, but who knows. But this is purely a gay case fic.

The constant sound of John’s typing echoed throughout the room. He sat at the desk beside the window, deeply engrossed in his work, waging away without uttering a single word. From the looks of his paper, he hadn’t been sitting there long. The candle beside him was burning brightly and it seemed to just have been lit only moments ago. He paused often to check his pocket watch for the time. Was he waiting for something? Or possibly someone? The glass of his watch shone brightly against the flames of the candle, revealing that it was nearly four in the morning. He closed his watch with a mighty amount of force and stuffed it back into his vest pocket. Afterwards, he slid the paper out of the typewriter, read it over, and then angrily threw it onto the ground. He sighed and began a new article. It read:

 

_“One would say time has passed rather quickly, considering my years of travel in the company of my most admired companion, Sherlock Holmes. Although, to me, time has passed neither fast, nor slow; it has gone at a moderate pace, allowing me to enjoy every step of the way. In the three years of my residence in 221B, I have experienced affairs ranging from mysterious to mad, but I have loved each occasion all the same. My dear companion, Holmes, has given me something I couldn’t live without; adventure, thrills, excitement. If it weren’t for him, I ‘d have been living a dull life with nothing to look forward to but the velvety insides of a coffin. Holmes has not only successfully saved me from the horrors of a plain life, but he has also written my future for years to follow. He truly is an amazing man. If only someone could make him see—“_

 

John had stopped in the midst of his of writing, he had heard a commotion downstairs. The sounds he heard clearly described a door opening and a slight stumble. It was silent for a moment, then John heard the sounds of light footsteps wandering up the stairs. They were that of footsteps he had heard before. John reached for his revolver that was messily hidden beneath the many papers scattered among the desk. He rose from his seat and started for the door, unsure if the intruder was welcome or not. The footsteps were nearing and John’s guard rose to it’s highest degree. The suspicion in him grew, as did the curiosity. He had no intention of firing the gun he held so tightly in his hands, because he equally held the idea of this prowler being the opposite of a threat. Though, it was more than an idea. John realized that this was no intruder and rested his investigation. A tall, dark figure stepped just before the doorway. A smile crept along John’s face when the figure removed his hat. It _was_ who he thought it was.

 

“I really hope you aren’t still writing those stories for _The Strand_ , Dr. Watson. Doesn’t it grow a bit tiresome?” a familiar voice chimed.

John chuckled and threw his gun onto his table, melting into a simper, “By God… Is it really you, Holmes?”

Sherlock steadily stepped into the light. He was always a tart for the dramatic. He smiled, “My dear Watson, I can assure you that your eyes are not deceiving you.”

John quickly made his way towards his long awaited companion and his smile grew, “I wasn’t sure what to make of that telegram you sent months ago… It had nothing but a date and a time inscribed. But, here you are. On the date posted.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, he turned his head from John and grazed over the entirety of the room, “I never sent a telegram.”

“Y-You what? You never…” John pondered, “It says ‘Holmes’ clearly on the envelope! And on the note! It couldn’t have been Mycroft, could it?”

 

Sherlock carefully stepped past John, and stopped in front of the desk. He skimmed through the mess and lifted up a single, small envelope that read, ‘Dr. Watson’. He eyed it suspiciously. John was becoming unnerved. Who could’ve sent a message concerning Sherlock’s exact return date? Who could’ve known where he was? Not a soul knew except Sherlock’s older brother. John watched Sherlock examine the telegram.

John had always been fond of watching his friend deduce. It was pure delight to see his friend again in general. Sherlock had been away on a secret task assigned to him by his brother. John had waited days on end for a message or note pertaining to the status or return of his companion. Upon receiving what he had longed for, he fell into a state of bliss. But, in light of the new information given, John felt disoriented. He had only just gotten his best friend back, and it seems that someone is already after him. What was he doing during those months of travel overseas? Is there something he was hiding? John’s brain continuously poked at the concept that his friend was hiding something, but through the strong magnitude of loyalty he held, he always shook the thought out of his head without fail. He felt that Sherlock knew this, seeing as the man knew everything.

 

“Holmes. Have you an idea of who might’ve sent this?” John asked.

Sherlock threw the envelope onto the table and turned back around to face John. He took a generous pause, “…I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest.”

John smiled in glee at this fact. He indulged in the moments where Sherlock had no clue. But at the same time, the issue at hand was serious. He sighed, “Then what are we to do?”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock shrugged “Wait… I presume.”

 

At this point, John became frustrated. Wait? He was tired of waiting. He wanted to act now. And he never suspected Holmes out of all people to suggest something as unhinged as waiting. But, John kept calm. His friend had returned and another adventure was soon to begin. This was everything he wanted. Or at least he thought.

 

***

 

[in progress]


End file.
